Corrupted Sequence
by Spaz-kun
Summary: He's buried too many bodies already. The pursuit of vengeance threatens to bring down what's left of Ezio Auditore, and everything is bleeding into 2012.
1. Sequence1::Prelude::

Hey, welcome to the story. This actually takes place during the game and will follow through central events you'll be sure to recognize. I'll post warning as they appear necessary during the chapters. All rights reserved to Ubisoft. Please enjoy.

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Sequence One::Prelude:: _"If an injury has to be done to a man, it should be so severe that his vengeance need not be feared."-Niccolo Machiavelli_

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_July 1478, Tuscany_

"His name is Ezio. The brat hails from Florence and is the surviving son of Lorenzo de'Medici's Assassin, Giovanni Auditore."

"Like father like son. I honestly never expected him to come as far as he did."

"First Vieri and now Francesco…It's unforgivable, Messer Jacopo. Some of my men even claim to have seen a white hooded phantom creeping about during the attack on San Gimignano. It had to have been him, joining the ranks of that _idiota_, Mario Auditore of Monterrigioni."

"Yes," Jacopo drily agreed. "And now he has an uncle at his side as a tutor in the arts of war. What a lovely thing, his family is."

The battle-weathered man before him spat to one side, expression distorted by disgust of either the horrible stench that plagued Jacopo's residence or the mention of the Auditores. "Lovely indeed," he muttered, wiping the spittle from his lips and swearing obscenely enough on the Auditore name to make anyone else uncomfortable. Jacopo was used to the crude ways of Francesco's cousin and only chuckled at the display of contempt. Ciro de'Pazzi was a man who made good on his promises, and tonight, he'd made his way to Tuscany to swear on his cousin's head that he'd bring down the assassin apprentice for good. He'd planted a few men in Monterrigioni after it was confirmed that the assassin was in league with the area's _condottiere_ only to find that the person to assassinate Uberto Alberti had in fact been Giovanni's own son. Even better, he was the sole survivor of the third-generation Auditore men. To end him would be to end a fledgling hawk that was just learning how to use its talons. Dangerous business, yes, but even more dangerous if allowed to mature.

"I assure, you, it shall be done, Messer Jacopo," Ciro uttered, raising the glass of red wine Jacopo had poured the man upon his arrival to the older Pazzi's hidden alcove on the edge of the city. Both sat on opposite ends of an ornately carved table, and as Jacopo tried to ignore the wad of saliva that had been spat onto his wooden floor, he set a heavily laden sack between them. Ciro's eyes became instantly fixated on the source of the disgusting smell of rotten flesh. A sly grin displayed the man's yellowed teeth and he took one last drought of his wine before slamming a hand flat-palmed on the table hard enough to disturb the sack's contents.

"Didn't think you'd be this literal with me, Messer Jacopo," he laughed, standing slightly from his chair and reaching for the sack. It was heavy, a few pounds at the least, and Ciro's smile faltered as he traced the familiar features of his cousin's face through the cloth. Jacopo gave the man a moment before clearing his throat.

"Swear it, Ciro," Jacopo ordered, hard, glittering eyes fixated on the man's solemn expression. "Swear it on Francesco's head. Swear Ezio dead to me!"

Ciro drew back the cloth in one swift motion and kissed the decomposed remains of Francesco de'Pazzi's brow. "I swear it. Ezio Auditore will _die_!"

_--_

_Monterrigioni_

The heat in the Villa was suffocating during the summer months, Ezio sourly reflected, raking his hands through the mess of sweat slicked bangs plastered to his face as he circled the ruefully grinning partner Mario had assigned him for sparring. Both had long since removed their armor and thick, flannel tunics soaked to capacity. Swords, breeches, and nicked chests were all the two sported as they went at it again and again, strafing, countering, and occasionally taking cheap-shots while Mario wasn't looking.

"Sloppy form, _nipote_," Mario bellowed when Ezio lost his footing and was forced to poorly improvise to avoid getting grazed. Scowling, he fell into stance once more and endured an onslaught of attacks before seeing an opportunity and executing an underhand counter hard enough to leave his arm jarred to the bone. The move served its purpose though, sending Giosue's practice sword skidding across the pavement. A triumphant if not contemptuous grin flashed wolfishly across Ezio's face. "Dead."

"That's enough, Giosue," Mario ordered when the man advanced a step towards Ezio, obviously unamused by the young Auditore's flagrant bravado. "Ezio is too brash for his own good and will probably die because of it."

Ezio whirled to stare at his uncle incredulously as the two chuckled at his expense. "I just beat his face into the ground and you laugh? _Zio_, this wounds me!"

"As if you weren't wounded enough already," the _condottiere_ drily remarked, referring to the slightly-less-than-serious-looking gashes that pulsed red against Ezio's abdomen with every gusty breath he took. He glanced suspiciously to where Giosue had parked himself on the stone ring surrounding the sparring enclosure and was satisfied to see that his nephew had managed to gouge some skin as well.

"Well, it's your own fault for removing your armor, boys, so don't ask for a free patch-up or I'll have your necks," Mario cheerfully crowed in dismissal. "And don't report to the barracks in the morning, Giosue, you've earned the day off. My regards to the wife," he added with a sly grin as Giosue gathered his armor and made to descend from the palazzo's yard. Ezio allowed himself a chuckle when the man continued down the steps, heartily voicing his thanks to the "lecherous drunk" of Monterrigioni.

"Does it worry you when your own men call you such things?" Ezio asked in mock-concern, eyeing the completely unoffended Mario who stared after the diminishing figure of Giosue with a silly grin on his face.

"_Zio_?"

"Hm?"

"I have the distinct feeling that Messer Giosue's woman is quite the beautiful specimen."

"You have no idea, _nipote_. No idea."

Ezio secretly internalized this information and circled the stone enclosure to where he'd carelessly stripped himself of his armor and tunic, wishing now that he'd been a tad gentler with the hidden blades. They were delicate pieces of work that took time to fix. He strapped one on and flexed experimentally, satisfied when the dagger unsheathed without delay. "Good," he muttered, collecting the rest of his things and striding up beside his uncle who'd already begun to ascend to the palazzo.

"_Zio_, will we be leaving for Florence again within the week?"

Mario glanced at him warily. "Why should we? We've turned the city inside out in search for Jacopo and have not found him. He is no longer in San Gimignano, and there have been no leads up until now. It's cost us quite a bit of our anonymity, Ezio. The best thing the wolf can do when there is no prey is wait."

"Or move on to better hunting grounds," Ezio retorted angrily. "It's been months and I tire of waiting for something that won't come!"

"And what's that, a fight?"

"Vengeance!"

Mario eyed his nephew for a long moment before saying, "I've heard on more than one occasion that our tumultuous search is drawing unwanted attention. I've been advised to lay low and suggest you do the same, _nipote_. The last thing we want is an attack close to home, if you get my meaning."

The older man accentuated his point by tapping Ezio on the chest with a finger. "Your mother would not bear to see you taken away from her because of an avoidable mistake, _capisce_?"

Ezio averted his gaze as the better part of him responded with an automatic though begrudging "Yes, uncle." Mario seemed satisfied, patting the younger man's cheek roughly and ordering him to his quarters.

"Hurry, before Claudia sees you," he whispered, suddenly looking like the fifty-some man that he was as he hastily ushered Ezio past the closed door of her study and attempted to shoo him on. "Clean up and I'll send a medic with some poultices for the cuts."

Ezio planted his feet into the ground and let his deadweight fall back against his uncle, who grunted irately in response. "You're that afraid of a little girl, uncle? Well, my dear sister is rather good at mixing poultices herself. And at least she won't charge me three hundred florin!"

"Fine," Mario growled, shoving against Ezio's back and gaining a few inches. "One-fifty."

"Free or no dice," Ezio warned. Mario stared at him skeptically. Shoved an elbow into his ribs to no avail.

"Claudia! _Sorella mia_, could you come here for just a moment?"

"Free! Free, you worthless man," Mario swore, and Ezio was gone, the sleeve of his tunic disappearing up the ladder he quickly scaled to reach his quarters just as Claudia emerged from her study, suspiciously eyeing her uncle.

"Was that Ezio?"

A pause. "No."

Mario swallowed hard as a sculpted black brow rose an inch above the other. Ezio still called her a little girl, but Claudia had turned into quite the barb-tongued woman during her two years in Monterrigioni watching over its finances. She could smell a liar from miles away, and Mario more often than not would call the intuition a form of Eagle Vision that had somehow dappled into her gene pool.

"I_ heard_ him."

"You heard wrong."

Claudia watched him for a moment more then sighed, deemed whatever mysterious business the two were hiding as unimportant, and returned to her study to finish discussing renovation costs with the architect. Mario released a pent up breath and swore on his brother's grave for having left him to tend to such impudent nephews as he went in search of the palazzo's medic.

"…I should have let them all rot in Spain."

--

_Tuscany, Pazzi Coalition_

"They're biding their time, Ciro. The young one is eager to fight but Mario discourages him like the experienced old hound that he is. He knows that something's brewing, just not what or when."

"But he knows. That's enough for him to have a thousand of his _condottiere_ on the lookout for a breeze that blows the wrong way in his eyes. You're in dangerous territory, and we don't have any time."

"Mario isn't our target. Ezio is yet young and will make make brash decisions if he's goaded on enough. Lure him into the open, out from under his uncle's protective shadow and you'll see how easily he trips over his own feet."

Ciro eyed the woman before him with a smile; he'd always admired her dedication to treachery and found her talents especially useful when it came to reconnaissance. "I will trust your judgment then, _bella_ _mia_. And this husband of yours, he-"

"Is none the wiser. We're expecting," She finished with a coy smile that would've made her girlish features look innocent had she not been wearing a cowl.

But Ciro had known her for too long and too well to be fooled. He dismissed her with a nod of his head and immediately the guard beyond the door of the Coalition's hideout moved to escort her to the mare she'd tethered outside.

"Messer Ciro, one last piece of information I believe you'd find useful."

She was at his door, only her lips and chin visible under the heavy hood that kept her clandestine to the world. "Speak, child."

She hesitated a moment before murmuring in hushed tones, "Ezio Auditore is a family man. I've seen him walking his ailing mother through the safer streets of Monterrigioni, and he's excessively jealous with his sister. She manages the city's finances in one hand and keeps what remains of Giovanni's family together in the other."

"I'll keep it in mind, Madonna. Now run home, before your dear Giosue believes you unfaithful."

In a moment she'd disappeared, leaving Ciro to stew in his thoughts. What remained of the Pazzi's hidden forces had diminished greatly during their skirmishes with the Auditore. Francesco and Vieri's blood cried for vengeance. He'd been forced to dig two graves already, and Ciro would make sure Ezio suffered the same pain before he too reached an ill-opportune end.

_End of Chapter One_

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Thanks for reading.


	2. Sequence2::He Orchestrates His Pawns::

Thanks to those who've reviewed and alerted! I write for you guys! Here's chapter two.

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Sequence Two::He Orchestrates His Pawns::_ "If the facts don't fit, change the facts."-Albert Einstein_

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_Assassin's Hideout, September 2012_

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, something's amiss here, folks."

Shaun Hastings squinted at the data sleeting across his computer screen as he waved Rebecca over and gestured to the map of interconnecting faces shaded gray or lined with red according to their status in the animus.

"There's a disturbance in the force."

Index finger tapping insistently on the foreign portrait that stemmed from Francesco de'Pazzi's, the blonde man swiveled around in his seat and eyed Rebecca's concerned expression apprehensively. Lucy came up beside them and examined the object of Shaun's distress, then glanced at the cyber-punk who'd furiously begun to type incoherent streams of data into the program that allowed them to keep track of the people Ezio encountered. She didn't look pleased.

"When did you notice his data interfering with Ezio's sequences?"

"That's exactly it!" Shaun snapped, swatting Rebecca's hands away and reclaiming the key-board. He pulled up a few files that opened like spread-sheets and skimmed down, as if looking for a wrinkle in the storyline. "There is no interference. One moment our targets are set and the next, we have a whole other lifetime seamlessly integrated into Ezio's memory. It isn't feasible!"

"Does this 'Ciro' have a file in the system?" Lucy asked, brows knit together. She glanced back worriedly at the animus to where Desmond slept. "Is he dangerous?"

"Oh, I don't know," Shaun mused with mock concern. "He's a direct relative to Francesco de'_Pazzi_, Luce!"

"Is he? We would have been aware of his presence since the moment Ezio came into contact with Francesco," Rebecca interrupted, the corners of her lips inching lower with each file Shaun opened and scanned. "I've heard of data being obtained from the animus…Stored, converted, destroyed, all that jazz, but you can't…you can't hack created data back inside. That would cause immediate desynchronization."

"What, are you suggesting that someone's turned Desmond's memories into a computer game? They made an avatar and managed to insert it into the animus' data stream without us noticing?" Shaun demanded, finally relinquishing his throne to Rebecca so that she could work easier. He fisted his hands in the close-cropped blonde ruff of his hair and waited for a sarcastic "No" from either Lucy or 'Becca, as long as it came. It didn't.

"No. Hell _no_. We aren't gamers, we're professionals!" He exclaimed in exasperation, but the ladies ignored him as they repeatedly tried and failed to access Ciro de'Pazzi's original database file.

"The crazy thing is, Ezio isn't even aware of his existence yet," Rebecca muttered. "This could either be a system glitch, a really bad joke, or a distraction. If Desmond outright attacks this guy, it could change the data we've obtained surrounding Ezio's life and completely shatter the sequences we've managed to complete. It would theoretically change history, but only in the Animus."

"Oh, well what a relief," Shaun muttered sarcastically, pinching the bridge of his nose and hooking his glasses in the collar of his vest. "That means we'd have to deal with an alternate reality where neither history nor data can guide us because…Bah."

He didn't feel like saying it again. Then Rebecca kindly decided to drop the bombshell neither had been expecting to hear.

"Well, the Animus 2.0 has been hacked. That must mean that there's a 3.0 in the bad guy's hands."

"…What?"

_Undisclosed time and location_

Ventilators hum mechanically in the hospice room.  
_  
'Why won't they let me leave?'_

He's technically dead. Has been for a few weeks now. At least that's what the doctors muttering hush-hush around him say. But he hears them. He listens to them. He hates them.

"It's ready."

"That's what you said the first time we tried and look what happened!"

"There's a zero percent failure factor, sir. There's no way we can get this wrong."

The voice grunts in response. "Pull the jack. He's useless now."

The ventilators stop humming. Black fades to white. A moment of sick desperation makes the man's body convulse for air before lying still once more. Vidic is almost astonished to find tears on the man's cheeks when the forensics move to bag him, but really, who could blame the sucker for being sentimental? It was all over for him now.

_September 2012, Assassin's Hideout / July 1478, Monterrigioni_

Ezio, who was really Desmond reliving the _real_ Ezio's memories opened his eyes to gaze wearily at the beams supporting the peaked ceiling of his quarters. The room was dark and the palazzo silent; the two men were most aware of each other during the wee hours of the morning. Ezio could feel the thrum of a heartbeat out-of-sync with his just under his skin, and it frightened Desmond to know that this data-Ezio could be so…_sentient_.

During times like these, Desmond secretly doubted that he was reliving something virtual and was more inclined to believe that he'd traveled to the past. When he'd asked Lucy about it, she'd said not to let it get to him. The simulacra was supposed to seem like he had a mind of his own, and that in any case, Ezio would promptly forget ever sensing Desmond's presence as the day progressed. She was right, of course. Ezio's questioning mind would soon turn sluggish with sleep again and that would be the end of it. For him at least. There were just some things that were becoming harder and harder for Desmond to swallow every time he dove back into the animus.

He didn't want to worry Lucy-she had enough on her hands as it was-but the idea that the bleeding effect was starting to take its toll made Desmond's gut churn. It was the last singular thought he had before finally losing himself in Ezio and resuming the sequence.

_Pietro's Tavern, July 1478, Monterrigioni_

"We don't have a name yet, Messer Mario."

"But the threat is there?"

"Yes. The Pazzi are being subtle with their movements but word gets around. The hatred for your nephew's family is almost palpable in certain districts of Firenze. Ser Lorenzo has very little tolerance for those who would slander the Auditore name, though."

"I see. Send Lorenzo my thanks-I'll be doubling the watch and taking extra precautions immediately."

The envoy dipped his head and slipped away from the tavern's bar, leaving Mario to nurse his drink in grim silence. That was the third message to reach him that week. He'd posted guards at both Maria and Claudia's quarters with strict orders to not alarm either of them unless it was strictly necessary, and he knew Ezio slept with his blades strapped on both arms. Yet he worried.

It was the nature of a one-eyed wolf to be most vigilant of his blindside.

_End of Chapter Two_

A tad shorter than the first, but I hope it served it's purpose. Thank's for reading.


	3. Sequence3::Gente di poca fede::

Thanks to all who've reviewed, faved, and alerted! [To Celeste and Topkicker-thanks for the kind reviews!] I have to say...This chapter had me ripping my hair out. There were certain things that had to be "just so" and it took me a while to reconcile everything together.

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Sequence3::Gente di poca fede::_"Conformity-the natural instinct to passively yield to that vague something recognized as authority."-Mark Twain_

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_Tuscany, Pazzi Coalition, Unknown date 1478_

When Jacopo presented him to the grand minds behind the so-called "Pazzi Conspiracy", Ciro mentally dismissed the three as bleating cowards who hid behind their titles. His unpleasant smile was deceptively broad though as he bent to kiss the jeweled rings on each of their fingers.

"Ciro, my son," Jacopo murmured, circling his fellow schemers and taking hold of the larger man's wrist. "Archbishop Salviati, brother Bagnone, and Messer Baroncelli have entrusted their lives to your vigilant care. As have I."

An archbishop, a monk, and a high-maintenance mercenary? They eyed him with contempt and disbelief because he did not wear the flowing, colorful robes of the magistrate or adorned himself with rosaries of the church. Jacopo wasn't as stupid as that, but Ciro supposed this was because the old man had seen him take down Pazzi adversary before.

"Please, Messer Jacopo, don't waste your time on flattery. It's in their eyes," he murmured in a careless undertone that made the old man shift uncomfortably. "I've yet to make believers out of them."

Jacopo opened his mouth to protest, but was silenced when Ciro held up his hand. Archbishop Salviati scowled at the display of submission. "And who are _you_ to be making believers out of anyone? Do you expect us to blindly entrust ourselves to a brute who hides like vermin in a bear's den?" he demanded, thrusting his arms out in a flourish of red and white robes and gesturing to the earthy surroundings of the meeting place.

"It isn't as comfortable as your luxurious halls and offices, but I assure you, you're less likely to be assassinated in this brute's den than anywhere else," Ciro retorted. Then softer still, "Oh ye of little faith."

"Blasphemous," gasped Bagnone, gripping the wooden pearls of his rosary. "He speaks the words of our Christ in vain!"

"I'll speak the words of the Beast if I have to in order to make you understand,_ brother._ I do not demand your respect or fealty in exchange for mine. If you seek my protection and Messer Jacopo deems you worthy of it, I will gladly take you all under my wing. But my goal is beyond…_this_."

Ciro spread his arms wide and locked gazes with the trembling figure of Stefano da Bagnone.

"Your precarious scramble for power doesn't concern me. I seek vengeance, and with your accidental aid I can achieve it_._"

Silence. He smiled then, the brown of his eyes flickering a static-gray that would come to be called 'interference' in centuries to come. Bernardo Baroncelli chalked it up to witch-craft and for a small moment, the mercenary feared for his soul in the hands of a demon like Ciro de'Pazzi. He warily glanced at the petrified figure of the stooped monk beside him, then to Jacopo who'd averted his gaze from the scene and stood half concealed by the shadows where the torch light couldn't reach him. Salviati had backed off, pale fists white-knuckling in what Baroncelli presumed to be anger.

"We accept your offer, then," the archbishop spat, disgusted with himself even as he spoke. "We will cause you no more difficulty. I wish you success in your endeavors to avenge your kin and rid us of the Assassin that would disrupt the Knights Templar agenda."

"It's a deal, then," Ciro laughed, an ugly, raucous sound that had no place amid the grim faces that surrounded him. Baroncelli shoved the feeling that they had just sold their souls to the devil down his throat. It continued to churn in his belly long after he lay awake in his own bed, aghast at the massive, ornate windows that left him completely exposed to the vengeful blade of an Assassin.

--

_Streets of Monterrigioni, July 1478_

He'd been taught to hide and analyze from a distance before engaging the enemy. Weapons of stealth had been more familiar to him as a youngster than the hefty weight of a sword. Mario wasn't a stranger to the Cowl, and he certainly wasn't unversed in the ways of the covert; he merely chose not to follow these prerequisites, finding more satisfaction in the kill when it was accompanied by the bloody roar of a hundred men who'd helped him take down the guilty party.

Still, he silently admitted, the cloak and cowl made him more inconspicuous than he could ever hope to be while surrounded by _condottiere_ who all called him 'Captain'. It would serve its purpose, even if only for tonight.

No one saw him as he quietly slipped from the tavern and maneuvered the night life crowd to the nearest alleyway he could find. Ezio's bright uniform would make him too notorious too quickly against Monterrigioni's stony backdrop. Mario had dyed the old leather of his robes gray years ago and made a mental note to mention the choice to his nephew promptly. Nevertheless, there were more pressing matters to attend to before he could return to the _palazzo_ that night. Mario had strength in arms and numbers, but two trained Assassins-or one and a brash apprentice, rather-were not enough to gather reconnaissance on a plot that just might explode in the heart of his own city. He needed the eyes of an eagle and the ears of a fox, two qualities _La Volpe _luckily possessed.

"He's become harder to find," Mario muttered, his good eye flitting from rooftop to rooftop as he trailed in the shadows of houses lining the city wall. "Does he yet think I can dart across the roofs like an idiotic monkey?"

The hearty clap on his shoulder-guard nearly forced the old assassin's heart up his throat. Mario whirled around to find La Volpe's shoulders shaking silently with subdued laughter as he hid a wicked grin behind his fist.

"No, my dear Mario. That's why I've descended to speak with you where we _monkeys_ defecate."

"I'd rather prance in a pile of crap while my boots can still feel solid ground than fall to an early death from the heavens," Mario scoffed even as the two grasped forearms in warm greeting. La Volpe's smile faded and he met Mario's good eye with a somber gaze.

"Treachery is brewing in the city, old friend. I've heard many things."

"I've been told as much," Mario murmured, voice careful. "But now is neither the time nor the place to speak of this. I do have a favor to ask of you, though."

"Anything for the Brotherhood."

"Stay in the city but a few days. Close your eyes and listen to what my nephew and I cannot hear. Listen to what the horses have to say of their riders as they enter Monterrigioni. Listen to the spiders that hear the most secretive conversations in the most secretive of places. Listen to the birds that roost atop the houses of those who plot against us. I'm sure they'll reveal what man has yet to."

"Nature-the most silent observer and the loudest witness," Volpe murmured, smiling slightly. The man inclined his head and turned to disappear. "Nothing is true."

"Everything is permitted."

The two went their separate ways then, La Volpe effortlessly scaling the creased wall of a dilapidated building as Mario strode silently through the shadows. Both ebbed into the night, their meeting forever an undocumented moment in history.

--

_Monterrigioni_

He awoke with a snarl, both blades drawn and stabbing wildly before actually seeing the face of the intruder. Mario swore and slapped both attempts at his life away before grabbing Ezio in a headlock and forcing one of the youth's eyes to open with a thumb and forefinger.

"It's a'me, you animal! Mario! Now stop attacking and listen!"

Ezio strained against his uncle's bicep and twisted out of the hold with an unceremonious grunt. He glared blearily at Mario's grinning face and found something amiss with it.

"You wear a cowl," Ezio stated in disbelief, retracting his blades sheepishly and rubbing at his neck.

"Yes, and so do you. Or do you forget who's been training you for the past two years?"

"Giosue?"

Mario scowled and cuffed his nephew on the shoulder. "This old man still gets around too, boy. Now do you want to hear what I have to say or should I go and ask your sister if she'd like a try as an assassin while you play soldier?"

At Ezio's awkward "No", Mario carefully proceeded to pull a scrappish piece of parchment from his cloak. He lit the lamp on Ezio's desk, smoothed the article across the messy surface of quills and paper, then motioned for his nephew to examine it with him.

"It looks like a Codex page," Ezio mused, squinting in the light and peering over Mario's hunched form. "But it isn't Arabic."

"Or Hebrew or Chinese or Indigenous for that matter either," Mario added, voice grim. "Whatever it is, it wasn't done by Altair's hand. Use your second sight and look here, _nipote_."

Ezio did as he was told, taking a moment's worth of concentration to invert his vision and examine the effervescent pink symbol that flared on the corner of the parchment…

And then Desmond was sent reeling back into 2012, the word 'Desynchronized' flashing across the animus screen.

_End of Chapter Three_

_

* * *

_

For those of you who suffered a historical overdose like I did in the first segment of the story, the "Archbishop, monk, and high-maintenance mercenary" are all members of the Pazzi Conspiracy from the game. There is one member that has yet to appear, but I'd rather not say anything about that and let you see for yourselves. There are five involved in the plot, including Jacopo de'Pazzi.

I hope I didn't offend anyone with the crappy Mario Bros. pun :D ...

~Arrivederci and until Sequence Four.


	4. Sequence4::Metropolis::

Sequence4::Metropolis::

"_We march all around 'till the sun goes down-[night children.]_

_Broken dreams, no sunshine, endless crimes, we long for freedom._

_You're free, but in your mind, your freedom is in a bind."_

_Many Moons-Janelle Monae_

_Untraceable time and location_

The world rewinds, then veers to the future-he can do that now-and back again. It isn't a cycle because he never visits the same year twice. There's no clockwork to his travel; one minute in the past can take up days of the present, but such things don't apply to _him_ anymore.

'_I died. I died yesterday. Last year. Three weeks ago. W-whenever they stopped shoveling dirt on my face! It's over, right? Right? Oh, Lucy, you should've just finished the job…'_

Why his mind insisted upon surviving the Shocks is beyond him. The fingers of his right hand won't stop twitching, itching, jerking like a spastic, afflicted child possessed by the devil because of those 'treatments'. Maybe his brain is fried and needs re-circuiting or something. Lucy could probably explain it, but she doesn't exist anymore.

In this future, there's only white everywhere. Dusts to dust, ashes to ashes, and huge Abstergo buildings screaming "More!" to the humanoid slaves that feed their flaming bellies. Whiteness. Evil.

It's scary. He wants to go home and hide under the covers from the Boogey-man Vidic. If he can just go back and restart everything, he'll be good and choose the "easy way" instead when Vidic softly demands that he pick a side.

He wants to start all over again as the young, smiling volunteer with a firm handshake he'd been when Abstergo first interviewed him for genetic testing.

Everything was white then, too. His clothes, the walls, Lucy…Later, the world faded red and he could only hope the doctors didn't catch on when he began to repeatedly desynchronize the Animus to surface in the real world for air. Sometimes he just did it to wipe at the nose-bleeds clogging his nostrils.

That bitter form of refuge doesn't work now. The air is electric and he tires easily; a bullet from the red-white men with guns would certainly kill him here and on the other side. Vidic will see him running and finish boiling his brain with the Apple.

But how can you kill a dead man? How does one kill a god? Vidic doesn't have the answers and neither does he.

'_My conscience won't let me hide, n-not when I have…this. Not when I can resurrect the dead and steal fire from the gods with a r-rewind button! I must take from the people, the stupid, mindless, justice-starved people! I must sabotage their accidental endeavors to become God.'_

_Assassin's hideout, September 2012_

Lucy almost choked on her skipped heartbeat when Desmond launched off the animus like a starved zombie and stumbled to Rebecca's desk. His eyes were blood-shot and his breathing labored.

"A pen," he rasped, scrabbling messily through a drawer despite the hacker's protests. "Pen and paper!"

Shaun tossed him a fancy ballpoint and Desmond bent over the desk, scratching rapidly on a brown napkin from God-knows what fast food joint Rebecca had visited last. The Englishman eyed Desmond skeptically and raised a brow.

"Morning to you too, Sunshine. Did you lose your footing and plummet down a couple hundred feet? Get shot with an arrow? Horse buck you off?"

The jive was ignored as Desmond frantically tried to scribble down what he'd seen on the edge of the pseudo-Codex page. It was like a swiftly fading snapshot in his mind's eye, a series of ones and zeroes and the number "twenty-five" twice that meant nothing to him but everything to the person who'd left it there. What did Rebecca called it? A binary code? It made Desmond think of the Matrix movies he'd watched as a kid years ago.

"Look," Desmond urged, spreading the napkin out against the desk. "This is what desynchronized me. It's a code I saw scrawled on the edge of some weird, wanna-be Codex page Ezio's uncle found."

Rebecca elbowed the disheveled man aside and snatched up the chicken-scratch of his handwriting.

"It's Binary, alright. And Hex code too. Give me a sec' to simplify it." She glanced at Desmond who'd sunk onto the animus seat again to rub at his eyes.

"How the hell did you remember all this?"

"I don't know, but I had to activate Eagle Vision to spot the code in the first place. Maybe it's a sort of short-term photographic memory…thing."

"His eloquence is astounding…"

"Cut the crap, Shaun," Lucy snapped, and he retreated to his monitor with a sneer. Once sure that the English bull-dog would stay down, Lucy sat beside Desmond and placed a careful hand against his arm.

"You're exhausted."

"Not really, just shaken up a bit," he admitted, though his heavy-lidded gaze suggested otherwise. "There's a crap-load of psychological tension going on in these sequences, and then Mario finds this false Codex thing-"

"Where?" Lucy interrupted, causing Desmond to glance at her in surprise. He shrugged, head in his hands again. "I de-synched before he could say. It isn't Altair's, and it's written in a language unrecognizable to both Mario and Ezio. That's all I could gather before his Uncle showed me the code."

"Got it," Rebecca said, scooting out of her seat and standing beside the animus. "It's a code _in_ a code, and seems simple enough to crack. Binary, Hex, and original, if not simplistic, ciphers. Check it out."

The key read _'12-3D-8-%-5-12-%'_, leaving Desmond as in the dark as he'd been moments ago.

"How is this cracked?" he asked, but Shaun reached for the paper and stared at Rebecca's scrawl silently while she reminded Desmond that she aimed to simplify, not crack.

They left the wise-cracking of jokes and codes to their historian.

"3D is Hex Code for 'E', right?"

"Yeah."

"Your hand makes the twelves look like an upper-case 'r', Rebecca. The percent sign is either an 'x' or a 't', and because the latter is more common in languages, I'll go with it. 8 is 's', that's a given. That leaves us with 'R-E-S-T-?-R-T. Restart."

"And our suspicions are confirmed," Lucy muttered. "Binary wasn't even developed until the 16th century, and not to the extent that it's used in this code. Someone is definitely planting data into our sequences." She turned to a perplexed Desmond and explained.

"While you were in the animus, another portrait spontaneously stemmed from Francesco de'Pazzi's, and we've been trying for the past hour to get a data-base entry for the new conspirator with no luck. It's too late in the process for this to be a system glitch, and if he's a powerful ally of Jacopo, it's bad news."

"And there's more where that came from," Shaun added sullenly. "Before you woke up, Ciro de'Pazzi's connection stemmed to the other three main members of the Conspiracy."

"Salviati, Bagnone, and Baroncelli. The guys next up on Ezio's hit-list," Desmond finished with a slow exhale of breath. The blonde man jerked his head down once in the affirmative. "We were almost sure you'd met him once you desynchronized, but now there's a whole new factor on our hands. Mario Auditore finding a Codex page, and a planted one, though we can only assume. Whether or not one and two are related is something only time and future sequences can reveal."

"If this 'hacker' is messing with our data, then future sequences aren't dependable at all," Lucy countered, gesturing to the key with "RESTART" scribbled under the simplified Hex code. "Maybe it's a warning, a suggestion even."

A pause. Desmond rubbed his palms against the fabric of his jeans and caught Rebecca's eye. "No. Just get me back in the animus and I'll figure this out. I have a name and have to hunt this Ciro down before he does any damage to the data-Auditore family. If I can locate _him_, I can locate the hacker, and we can get back to business."

Shaun shrugged and glanced at Lucy; she had the final say when it came to such decisions. It took a moment's hesitation before she slowly nodded her consent. Rebecca immediately went to work rebooting the animus.

"Remember-don't directly influence Ezio's simulacra. Insinuate, because too direct a hint will desynchronize you," Shaun advised as Desmond eased back into the lounge-like settee of the animus. The world dimmed and Desmond almost didn't hear Lucy's softly whispered, "Be careful," as he lost consciousness and began to dream.

_Approximately 530 years ago, Monterrigioni Palazzo, July 1478-True History_

"It looks like a Codex page," Ezio mused, squinting in the light and peering over Mario's hunched form. "But it isn't Arabic."

"Or Hebrew or Chinese or Indigenous for that matter either," Mario added, voice grim. "Whatever it is, it wasn't done by Altair's hand. Use your second sight and look here, _nipote_."

Ezio did as he was told, taking a moment's worth of concentration to invert his vision and examine the effervescent pink symbol that flared on the corner of the parchment. A vertical series of ones and zeroes had been scrawled onto the edge of the page.

"It makes no sense," he muttered, squinting and turning the page on its side to no avail. They were merely nonsensical numbers.

"Maybe the person was going mad when he made this," he suggested. "Where did you find it, Uncle?"

Mario hesitated, squeezed Ezio's shoulder and said, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. Now go swiftly and take this to Leonardo for examination. I believe he yet has his offices in Florence, so tread lightly, boy."

Before Ezio could protest, Mario swung over the gape in the floor boards leading to the palazzo's main level and began his descent down the ladders.

_End of Chapter Four_

BINARY CODE:

0001  
0010  
1101  
1000  
25  
0101  
0001  
0010  
25

SIMPLIFIED HEX CODE:

_12-3D-8-%-5-12-%_

_Cipher:_

_RESTART_

Yes, I learned to speak Matrix for Sequence 4. Until the next one, guys.


End file.
